


it's not what it looks like.

by Anonymous



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sea Grunkles, Stancest - Freeform, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: it could honestly be a lot weirder, right?





	it's not what it looks like.

**Author's Note:**

> edit 2: i reworked my idea for this fic and will be posting/updating here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12901869/chapters/29474478
> 
> edit: i've cleaned things up and edited out some mistakes and ugly things thanks to a couple of pals <3

His life is weird. Hell, everyone’s life is weird. There’s nothing inherently weirder about his experiences up to this point.

At least, that’s what he tells himself to avoid going crazy most days. He adjusts his arms on the railing and lets out a sigh. He tries to not let his thoughts go too south; he was actually in a decent mood today.

“Oh, my! Our catches from last week have begun to grow fur!”

Stan smirks and calls over his shoulder, “It’s meat, Sixer, that’s called mold. Just throw it out.” He hears an exasperated breath and heavy booted footsteps coming his way. A hand on his shoulder prompts him to turn.

“No. No, look at this. It seems to have actually developed follicles -” a tupperware container of old fish is violently shoved into his face- ”and look! Are these gills beginning to seam up at the edges?”

Ford prods gently at the swollen gills, which are, sure enough, starting to fuse at the corners.

“It must still be alive, just dormant. A survival instinct, maybe? Are… Are there fish that can alter their biology to function similarly to a mammal’s, to survive when torn from their original ecosystems?”

No, his life is definitely weird. Weirdness itself has always been attracted to him and his brother, who at this very moment is loudly rethinking everything he knows about biology.

“You know, Ford, people do think we come from mermaids. You wanna know my argument for that? If we come from mermaids, how are there still mermaids?” He laughs to himself.

Ford stops in his tracks, turns and gives Stan a deadpan expression. “We don’t, but that’s beside the point. This could mean so much for the future, Stanley. Where did we catch these? Can we go back? We only have six of these, and that’s not nearly enough for me to work with.”

Stan gives an unhelpful shrug, and Ford just huffs and goes back inside. He knows he probably came off a teensy bit more than disinterested, but he doesn’t have the willpower to think about things today. Other than things… y’know, he shouldn’t think about.

\---

Ford doesn’t sleep at night, and it keeps Stan up. His brother tinkers with things, dropping tools and books and making noise throughout the night, most nights, and Stan only gets sleep when Ford finally comes to bed at the asscrack of dawn. Even then, Ford wakes up first and nags on Stanley for sleeping up until noon.

“Sixer, can you stop fiddling with the damn fish and just go to sleep.” It wasn’t a question.

His arm hangs off the bed as he blearily stares into the dark. He’s not sure if his brother can hear him. Ford is close enough, but may very well be too engrossed with whatever he is doing.

A book, box, something heavy is set down gently, and a chair scoots across the floor. He sees the silhouette of his brother against the harsh yellow incandescent glow of the rest of the cabin, features unreadable as he peeks in.

“My apologies, Stanley. Am I being too loud?”

Ford is whispering, but it’s vaguely insincere and grating. He just wants to sleep.

“I think you need to like, I’unno, put your hairy salmon in the cooler and just go to bed. Gettin’ three hours of sleep on average can’t be good for you, and it definitely ain’t good for me.”

He sees Ford shift. This isn’t going to work. He’s going to make a snide comment about not being that old, when the grizzly bastard is definitely that old.

“...Honestly, you’re probably right.”

Stan senses guilt in his tone, maybe for not being a stubborn ass for once.

“Of course I am.”

Ford huffs and leaves the doorway. Stan hears him rustling papers and putting things away. The main light is turned off and Stan lets out a sigh of relief.

Ford shuffles back into the sleeping quarters, trying to undress in the little floorspace they have. Stan's eyes are tightly shut, trying to mentally block out the noises of some drawers squeaking.

He groans when Ford starts to take his sweet time, still furiously writing things down in the small journal he kept on his side of the bed, and Ford just shushes him.

There’s a clink of his brother’s glasses being set on the table, and he finally feels the bed shift behind him. He thinks maybe, just maybe, he’ll manage to wake up before 10. The clock reads 2:27am. This might actually happen. As long as he doesn’t dream about any more hairy meat...

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not an author. this was inspired by something my friend eats that she calls "hairy meat". i want this to be more of a collection of drabbles based in the same universe more so than an actual multi-chapter fic, just to get me back in the groove of writing. if that makes sense. maybe someone will enjoy it. i'd honestly love some critique or pointers!


End file.
